


Everything In Its Own Time

by Solanaceae



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, kid!Feanorians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/pseuds/Solanaceae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caranthir wants to go hunting with his older brothers, but they won't let him. Set in Valinor. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything In Its Own Time

When his older brother stopped playing his harp, it took a few seconds for Carnistir to register the fact. The sound was such a constant, always there under the bustle of the busy household - Father's hammer ringing in the forge, Mother's apprentices chattering, the dogs barking - and somehow the silver notes faded into the backdrop after awhile, so that one almost forgot they were there. Besides, it wasn't as if Kanafinwë played much besides the same scales over and over, and a few songs that others had made first (though Carnistir knew that he composed his own music, sometimes, even if he was oddly shy about performing it for the others). Some days it was annoying, hearing him pluck those stupid strings and sing his stupid songs when he  _should_  have been doing something useful like manning the bellows in the forge next to Maitimo or watching the baby for Mother so she could work in peace.

Years later, that music would be the thing he missed the most about that house and that time - when they all grew up and moved on, Carnistir lived alone in echoing halls filled with a bleak silence that was nothing like the sun-bright sounds that used to flow from those harp strings. But today was a special day, and the light was still there, and the stilling of the music was important.

Carnistir lept from the window-seat, tossing the toy horse he had been holding onto the scarlet cushion. Nearly tripping over the rug, he steadied himself on a nearby table before bounding from the room and hurtling down the hallway, his bare feet squeaking on the smooth dark wood. He nearly ran into one of Father's apprentices, eliciting a surprised curse from the tall boy. Giggling, he rounded the corner and dodged a maid scurrying in the opposite direction up the stairs with a tray balanced in her hands.

He made it outside without further incident - the others in the house, servants and apprentices alike, were used to him being underfoot, the wildest of the sons of Fëanor. He was a slim child, a few months past nine years old, with tangled black hair, rich and glossy, and tan skin. His knees were adorned with half-healed scrapes and bruises, as were his elbows-all souvenirs of the escapades of a child, battle wounds from fighting wars against invisible monsters in the backyard and forest. There was a lively light in the grey eyes that were several shades darker than any of his brothers', and a sly curve to his thin lips.

Two older boys stood in the courtyard, in the shade of the wall. He dashed across the cobbled stone, feeling the soles of his feet scrape rock, and hurtled into the taller of the pair. Maitimo huffed with surprise, the air forced from his lungs by the impact of the tiny body.

"Carnistir. What're you doing?"

Carnistir buried his face in his brother's tunic and inhaled, letting Maitimo's scent creep into him. Sweat and the heat of Father's forge and the sharpness of ink, dusty parchment and the hearthfire bright as his hair - that was what the oldest brother smelled like.

Beside Maitimo, Tyelkormo scowled. "Who said you could come out here, brat? Does Mother know you left your room?"

Carnistir pulled back to glare at his brother, and had to resist the urge to stick his tongue out at the light-haired boy. "Of course she does," he lied. Tyelkormo wasn't all that much older than he was, really, but he tried to  _act_  like he was so much more mature, always off playing with their cousins, never letting Carnistir come along.

"Well, why don't you go back inside?" Tyelkormo's grey-blue eyes were narrowed with annoyance, gleaming hard as the jewels in Father's forge. "You don't need to be out here."

"Be nice, Tyelko," Maitimo said automatically, shaking his head and shooting his younger brother an exasperated look. "What's taking Kano so long?" He glanced back towards the house, frowning. "I wanted to get going by midday."

"He only just stopped playing," Carnistir blurted, grabbing his brother's hands and pulling the attention back to him. "Maitimo?"

"Yes?"

He shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting across his older brother's face - now that it came to it, he was hesitant. "C-can I come with you and Kano and Tyelko? Come hunting, I mean."

Tyelkormo's response was a bark of incredulous laughter. "You? You aren't even big enough to sit a horse. You'd fall right off."

"I can too-" he began hotly, but Maitimo laid a gentle, heavy hand on his shoulder and looked down at Carnistir's scowling face, pity and something that might have been amusement warring in his steel-grey eyes.

"Carnistir, he's right, you're too little." Carnistir's face fell, and his brother added, "But soon, I promise!" Maitimo's words were probably meant to be comforting, but Carnistir's angry expression made it clear that he only heard - or only registered - the rejection. And when his brother reached down to tousle his hair with one hand, he ducked away, face burning.

"I am  _not_  too little," he protested. "I'll be ten next nameday!" What did they think he was, a baby like little Curufinwë?

"Carnistir-" Maitimo began, then trailed off, shaking his head. He was saved by the appearance of a dark-haired boy hurrying across the courtyard, tying his long hair back, a flustered expression on his pale face.

"So sorry, Maitimo!" Kanafinwë gasped, skidding to a halt beside his brothers, barely even seeming to notice Carnistir. "I completely forgot-"

"It isn't a problem," Maitimo interrupted smoothly, his best diplomatic mask on as he turned away from Carnistir, his relief at the appearance of the second son palpable. The two had always been closest to each other - much more, certainly, than Tyelkormo and Carnistir, who tended to fight at the slightest provocation. "Let's get going, shall we?"

"Wait!" Carnistir tugged on his brother's sleeve, looking up at him. It suddenly struck him that his brother was much taller than him-he'd never truly thought about that before, but from down here, trying to get his brother to listen when he was so far above... he felt so  _small_ , and that made his brow furrow and face flush red. "Let me come with you!"

"Carnistir, I told you... you're too little." This time it was said bluntly, no trace of patience. Maitimo was ready to leave, and he had no time for his little brother's requests.

The boy's face crumpled and he bit his lip, fighting back the burning in his eyes and the lump rising in the back of his throat. "B-but I want to come!" he cried, aware that his voice was shrill and childish, knowing that every word was just another reason to leave him at home - but he couldn't just  _let_  them leave him behind, could he?

Kanafinwë blinked. "What's this? Maitimo, if he wants to come..."

Carnistir turned to the dark-haired boy with wide, beseeching eyes, but Maitimo shook his head with an air of absolute finality. "No is no, Kano. Now let's  _go_." He turned and swept through the door. Kanafinwë followed, giving Carnistir a small, sympathetic smile. Tyelkormo stuck his tongue out as he passed, and Carnistir growled under his breath, clenching his fists. He watched through a blurred haze as the three of them mounted up and rode out, Tyelkormo's dog barking at the heels of his master's horse.

_Doesn't matter_ , he tried to tell himself, stumbling back across the yard, ducking through an arch and into the cool green of his mother's garden.  _It doesn't matter, they don't matter_ \- but of course it mattered, and no amount of denial was going to make it otherwise. At least he managed to hold the tears in until he was hidden, huddled under the glossy, dark leaves of a nearby bush. Then they flowed over his cheeks and splashed onto his bare hands, hot as blood, but at least no one could see him - and his brothers least of all. They were gone, and they didn't care-

He leaned back against the thorny branches, ignoring the way they pricked his skin, scratching thin red lines along his arms. The light filtered through from above, golden and soft, and he palmed the tears from his eyes, grimacing. There was no sound save the rustling of leaves and the distant ringing from the forge, far away. By now his brothers had probably found their cousin and were off riding through the woods, everything else forgotten, especially little Carnistir back home, with his stupid, childish dreams of joining them.

_I'll be a better hunter than all of them one day, just wait and see._  His hand fastened around a nearby stick and he brought it up with sudden, savage speed, the end whistling through the air. It slashed through the leaves above, sending a flurry of green dancing to the ground. He levered himself to his feet using the bush as a prop and pressed the attack, the stick a blur. Every leaf was his prey, helpless beneath his mighty sword - and if some of them had his brothers' faces, then that was only natural, wasn't it? He'd be better than all of them, one day, when he was older - once he wasn't so  _little_ \- and then they'd be the ones begging to come with him, and he'd be the one rejecting them-

The stick snapped, one end flying off into the garden, and he paused, chest heaving. His dark grey eyes stared blankly at the splintered end in his hand for a few, long seconds before he let it fall with a helpless sob. He sat down heavily amid the tattered leaves, wrapping his arms around his knees.


End file.
